


Yahtzee!

by callievalpoli



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Sex, Bottom Derek, Crack, Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callievalpoli/pseuds/callievalpoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew a dice game could be so much fun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yahtzee!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I write while I’m drinking. A flimsy little 1000 word pwp turned into an almost 5000 word cracky pwp. Sorry D: Unbeta’d. Concrit welcome.
> 
> (The working title for this was 'Lightning Striking Again.' So, yes, it actually could be worse.)

It's raining out, lightning flashing through the night.

Derek shivers.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, grin slowly forming. "Are you...? You are. You are totally afraid of thunderstorms, aren't you?"

Derek shoots him an eyebrow-heavy look.

"That's not a no," Stiles says with a smirk.

"Just roll already," Derek says, only it totally comes out a command instead of anything acceptable.

"Don't rush the master." Stiles applies his special Stiles Stilinski shake to the cup. Shake-shake. Shake-shake. Shake. SHAKE. And then he blows on the dice. Oh yeah. He's got this.

He looks up, and Derek is staring at him, like the totally creepy creeper he is.

"Dude!" Stiles says, for, like, the fifth time tonight.

Derek just arches his eyebrow and looks all superior. As he often does.

"Fine, whatever," Stiles says and blows on the dice one more time for luck. He throws them down, hard. He lifts the cup--slowly. And.... "Yahtzee!"

"You cheated. I don't know how, but you cheated," Derek grumbles and looks at Stiles' five glorious fives.

"Dude," Stiles says. "Don't even. You know I won. Fair and square."

Derek just shrugs his shoulders like the creepy mountain man he is and pretends to be above it all.

And then the lightning strikes. Again. And this time there's thunder, too. It sounds like a fucking tree collapsed. Even Stiles startles a little.

But Derek? He jumps. He honest to god jumps, eyes wide and face going white-white-white.

"Hey buddy," Stiles says, patting Derek's arm in an abstract manner. "It's okay. The big, bad, non-corporeal lightening won't get you." He smirks.

Derek sends him a dirty look. "Shut. Up."

"Why?" Stiles says with a twisted little smile. "Hitting a sore spot or something? Did all the other little werewolves on the playground use to made fun of you for your irrational fear of thunderstorms?"

Derek's eyebrows are so furrowed Stiles is a little worried they'll jump off and attack him or something. And his nostrils. Are flaring. Like a fucking bull. Stiles isn't gonna lie. It's fucking awesome. "SHUT! UP!" Derek says, eyes flashing briefly red.

"Yeah, that's gonna work on the human component," Stiles says. "Oh, wait. I know. You totally used to crawl into mommy-wolf and daddy-wolf's bed every time there was a storm, didn't you? It's okay widdle dewick. It's oookay."

Derek's totally gone, now--wolf form totally taking over. "SHUT UP! I NEVER WAS AFRAID UNTIL AFTER THE FIRE!"

And like that, all the wind's gone out of Stiles' sails. He's windless, okay. Fucking, windless. He holds his hands up in penitence. "Dude. My bad. I totally wet the bed for, like, a month after mom died." He stops for a second, because--"Dude, I've totally never talked about that. To anyone. Not even Scott. So, if anyone finds out about it, heads are gonna roll."

He looks at Derek, really looks at him, and the wolf's totally gone. In its place is a shaking man who looks--miserable actually. "Dude, I just told you total blackmail material. You need to, like, lord it over me. Like you ought to do. I mean, I kind of deserve it."

Derek just looks away.

And this? This calls for drastic measures. "It's okay, man," Stiles says, sort of patting him on the shoulder-slash-bicep area. "It's okay. Everything will be alright."

"No," Derek says. "It won't." He stares at Stiles and his eyes are _so lost_. "Everything good in my life dies. Hell, you shouldn't even be here."

Stiles rolls his eyes, because, "Okay, martyr much? Dude, I'm not good. I've never been good. I'm bad. To the bone!" He makes an appropriate gesture with his fist.

Derek snorts.

"No," Stiles says. "I am. For realsies."

Derek eyebrows him.

"Okay, whatever. I don't have to prove my badassery to you," Stiles says.

"That's because you aren't a badass, Stiles," Derek says with a superior little smirk.

"I'm bad," Stiles says. "I'm so bad. Dude, I'm so bad that Jesus wept when I was born."

"Right," Derek says in this way that means _wrong!_ "You're totally a badass. I mean, you've totally stolen before."

Stiles scoffs. "All the time. I mean, I cannot tell you the amount of my father's police equipment I've stolen."

"And where is that equipment now I wonder," Derek says, all fake thinky.

"Back at the police station," Stiles explains. Derek smirks. "Shut up," Stiles says.

"And then there were all those people you killed." Derek's mouth tilts up. "Oh wait, never mind."

"Oh please," Stiles says. "Murder is so 2010."

"And, obviously, there was that time you messed with the chick your best friend was totally interested in." Derek pauses, putting a finger to his cheek. "Oh wait. Wasn't that Scott?"

"You are a dick. A massive, _massive_ dick."

"I think you have your verbs confused. You meant 'have' there," Derek says.

"Jerk," Stiles says.

"And you've totally done drugs before," Derek says. "Obviously. I mean, you're the next Lindsay Lohan."

"Okay," Stiles says, throwing his arms up in a 'hold the presses' gesture. "I may not have done any _illegal_ drugs. But I have _totally_ used and abused the prescription drugs. Like, hardcore. I mean, I'm on truly massive amounts of adderall right now."

"I can tell," Derek says.

"Okay, fine. Whatever. I haven't been using it lately. But it's just because I haven't needed to. And every time I have used it, it felt weird. So..."

"So," Derek says, with a tilt of the head. "We've obviously been avoiding the truly massive elephant in the room. I've been meaning to talk to you about this. In fact, we all have." He holds Stiles by the shoulders. "It's okay to admit you have a problem. Just because you're a sex worker, doesn't mean we don't love you."

And that's dirty pool right there. Derek can't mention Stiles' virginity. _No one_ mentions Stiles' virginity and gets away with it. Including Lydia. And Danny.

"Well," Stiles says, sending Derek his own smirk. "I mean, I learn at the feet of the master. Considering your conquests have been so prolific since you've been back."

"I could be sleeping with people," Derek says, back suddenly up.

"Sure," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "You _could_ be sleeping with people. And I _could_ be Genghis Khan."

"You may be wrong about the badass thing, but you're right about something. You're not good. You're just a little shit." Derek shrugs as if trying to shrug the conversation away.

"I'm so hurt," Stiles says. "Watch me weep silent tears." He mimes wiping away a tear or two. He thinks about stopping there, but he never does the smart thing, okay. That's why he's Stiles. "You're just being a dick because you have blue balls."

Derek gives him a dirty look. "Like you're one to talk. It's been almost a year for me. How long has it been for you? Oh wait, I remember. You're entire life." He fake-laughs like a pro.

Stiles fake-laughs along. For, like, half a second. "Well, considering the fact that it's _illegal_ for me to have sex..."

Derek snorts. "That's not stopping any of your friends."

"Well, maybe I'm waiting for my one true love," Stiles says, tilting his head up. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Or _maybe_ you're just scared to let someone in," Derek says all superior. And then his face goes super serious.

"And maybe," Stiles says, pushing at Derek's chest, "so are you."

They stare at each other for an endless second.

And then they pelt themselves at each other, mouths devouring each other's and bodies twining together in a tale older than time.

"This is so wrong," Derek says.

"Wrong," Stiles says. "Way wrong. Very, very wrong."  His dick could pound nails it's so hard.

Derek's wrestling with Stiles' hoodie. After a second he manages to tug it off, and then he's growling in frustration. "How many layers do you wear?"

"Like, five," Stiles says, tugging Derek closer to maximize body contact. He licks Derek's neck.

Derek shivers. "Why the hell do you wear five layers, Stiles?"

"Because of reasons. Very important reasons!" Stiles says, tugging on Derek's hair. He bites Derek's lip, then sucks on it. Derek gives up trying to remove Stiles' clothes and just tugs him forward until they're as close as they can physically be.

Which means--

Stiles ends up in his lap.

"Uh, dude," Stiles says, squirming a little, "I think we have the positions reversed here."

"I don't think so," Derek says with a dastardly (sexy) smirk. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly where you belong."

"Ha. Ha. No, really. You're cracking me up here. But really. Let's switch." Stiles braces himself back on Derek's shoulders.

"Why would I want to do that?" Derek says.

"Because, it's only fair," Stiles says. "I mean, I totally won at Yahtzee. That means I am in charge of events. Whatever I say goes. And I say, I get to put the lime in the coconut."

Derek gives him a deeply, deeply betrayed look. "Why do the things that come out of your mouth even exist in this world?" But he totally gets up (which ends up with Stiles sliding off his lap onto the floor, but no plan's perfect) and gives Stiles a look of expectation. "Well? You want to be in charge? Be in charge."

And Stiles smiles a smile. A wicked, wicked smile. He hops onto the Sofa of Lovin' and pats his lap. "Now who's been a good little boy?" he says, wiggling his eyebrow.

Derek sighs the sigh of 'why me?' and looks at Stiles for a second. And then he--there's no other word for it--pounces on him. "I have no idea who's been a good boy. But I've got a pretty close connection to a bad one."

"Oh really," Stiles says, staring up at him. His face is all shadows from this angle. It makes him look almost skull-like.

"Yes," Derek says, leaning down until their noses are almost touching. "Want to prove me right?"

And Stiles? Who's Stiles to resist a challenge. He tugs on Derek's shirt until Derek is completely in his lap, and this time when he goes for Derek's neck, he bites down, hard.

Derek moans and clutches the back of the sofa.

Stiles runs his hands down Derek's ridiculous _ridiculous_ back and grabs his ass. Hard. It's a good ass. It's a fantastic ass. Stiles would be busily proclaiming all the wonders of said ass if he weren't too busy concentrating on the tongue in his mouth. Stiles starts kneading said ass. It's just such an amazing handful, Stiles can't help himself.

Derek jerks upright, and, for a second, Stiles is worried about a slap in the face. But instead Derek just gasps, and grinds into Stiles' movements. And if Stiles thought he was hard before, it's nothing in comparison to how hard he is with a moaning writhing Derek on top of him.

Derek pulls Stiles forward by the seat of his pants. Stiles is about to launch a complaint, when Derek jerks himself forward and is suddenly riding Stiles' body like a fucking stallion. It's so hot, Stiles honestly thinks he doesn't have any words. Other thank maybe asdlkadlfdja, or something similar.

Derek starts grinding himself against Stiles' dick. And that's it. Stiles seriously can't take any more. If Derek does anything else, at all, Stiles will come in his pants like a teenager. Which, he happens to be one, so go figure. He tugs on Derek's hips until their lower halves are no longer in contact. Derek looks down at him with a smirk. "Really?" he says.

"Shut up," Stiles says. He takes a second to cool down a little, just staring at Derek and--yeah, that isn't helping matters any. It's time to move on with things, before he ends this party early. "Come on stud. Let's get a move on. Time to earn your keep," he says, and slaps Derek on the ass.

Derek gives him a dirty look, but gets up like a good little werewolf. Stiles just stares at Derek, standing there all debauched and, like, messy as hell. And Stiles isn't sure he's ever seen something sexier in his life. His brain gets sort of involved in this image of Derek just fucking his own fist for Stiles' pleasure. It's not until Derek says, "Stiles," in a totally aggrieved tone that Stiles remembers he can have that. Or, actually, he can have something even better.

The walk to Derek's bed seems to take forever, not the least because his boner is making itself known in a big way. (Ha. Big.) It might also have something to do with how Stiles just has to stop Derek and maul him a little when he sees how the mark he left on Derek's neck is totally disappearing. (Werewolf healing--so unfair.) But finally they get to the bed.

"Okay," Stiles says, "let's do this!"

Derek arches his eyebrow. "Are you planning on 'doing this' dressed?"

"No," Stiles scoffs, and starts stripping his clothes the way god intended. As fast as fucking possible. He gets sidelined a bit, though, when he looks up only to see Derek stepping out of his jeans. And of course he isn't wearing underwear, of course he isn't. But eventually Stiles gets his head back in the game and then he's naked. Totally naked. Gloriously naked.

He panics.

He kind of forgot about how he would have to be naked in front of another human being. He makes an abortive grab for a pillow, but then he realizes how ridiculous he would look holding a pillow to his crotch versus just standing there naked. He'll take the nakedness, although he's seriously considering whether or not he should just put his clothes back on and make a hasty retreat.

He looks up, though, and Derek is just sprawled on the bed like a fucking centerfold (not that he's seen any of those--centerfolds--he just has a good imagination, okay?). And like that, Stiles' plans to leave just disappear. He can't think about his own modesty (or embarrassment-slash-fear) when faced with the undeniable sexiness of Derek's naked body in all its glory.

"Hey," Stiles says. It comes out lower than his voice has ever come out before.

Derek just smiles coyly. Like the coy little fucker he is. God he's a dick. He's such a dick. And--wow, he was right. His dick is really... "Why aren't you in porn?" Stiles asks, incensed.

"Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?" Derek asks, stretching in a way that's clearly meant to show off his many, many muscles.

"No!" Stiles throws his hands on his hips. "You're supposed to take it as a complaint. You are depriving thousands, _thousands_ of people the sight of your naked body.

Derek just tilts his head back. "I'm not denying you anything." He gestures down his body. Stiles' eyes inadvertently track the whole way down. And that image. That's something that he's going to be bringing up on many a long cold winter's night to keep him warm.

Derek's legs are a little splayed, and even the hint of what's to come has Stiles suddenly back to the 'going to come any second' stage of the proceedings.

Derek clears his throat. "If you're done objectifying me, want to get on with it? I wanted to catch Hannibal."

Stiles snorts. "Figures," he says, giving Derek his most judgmental eyebrow. "Do you, uh, have anything for, like... Or condoms? Condoms would be..."

Derek bends over the side of his bed, and magic happens (and Stiles doesn't just mean the sight of his ass in all its glory). Derek hits something that looks like it's just the side of the bed, only, secretly, it's a magic drawer. And, when Stiles walks closer, inside there are magic sex supplies. "Why didn't you tell me you were magical?" Stiles says.

Derek turns to him with a questioning look on his face. "I thought that would be something you would be saying a little later in the evening."

"Hahaha. Right. Because you're such a _master_ at sex and all." Stiles crosses his arms across his chest. And then he remembers he's naked. Probably not the best naked positioning ever.

"Oh, I forgot. This is your show." Derek puts his hands behind his head and spreads his legs more. And that sight...

"Stiles," Derek says, impatiently.

"Yeah," Stiles says, and then he's grabbing (hopefully) everything he'll need and hopping on the bed next to Derek.

"Hey," he says to Derek's face. Derek's face doesn't deign to respond. "So, uh, how do you want to do this, then?" Stiles says, nervously rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Up to you," Derek says, looking down at himself. "I'm pretty flexible." Stiles watches Derek's legs spread further and further until he's gotta be hurting something.

Stiles throws a hand on one of Derek's thighs, hopefully preventing any other displays of flexibility. "Okay, well." And Stiles hasn't done this before, okay? He has no clue what way works best. Pretty much all he can say is that he knows more about gay sex than Scott, and that's not exactly saying much. And then he has a thought. "What way do you like it best?" he asks. (Not only does he not have to make a fool out of himself by asking for something that's physically impossible, he can also _totally_ look like the better person. Who's, like, taking his partner's feelings into consideration. Like his dad told him during 'the talk.' And the next 'talk.' And the _next '_ talk.' Pretty much all the 'talks.')

But Derek doesn't look appreciative, the dick. He totally has this smirk on his face. And then he says, "I like being on top. But, maybe not this time. I'm pretty sure you couldn't handle the experience."

And, okay, Stiles will admit to a small, small (huge, okay) competitive streak. But that's perfectly acceptable. Normal even. It's, like, just a part of being human.

"Okay, you riding me it is then," Stiles says. And then he totally mimics Derek's pose from earlier, down to the hands behind his head. "Go on. Sex me up."

Derek turns on his side, leaning up on one arm. He throws something at Stiles. It lands on his stomach. Stiles looks down and sees--lube. Oh, right.

And here's another one of those times where some experience would be a good thing. "Uh..." He looks at the lube. And then he looks up at Derek with a shit eating grin. "You know what would be super hot? If you did it. So. Sooo. So hot."

Derek huffs out a sigh that sounds like 'lazy,' and grabs the lube. He twists the cap open and coats his fingers, and then he's just reaching behind himself and--

Well, actually Stiles has no fucking clue considering the fact that the jackass is turned away.

"Dude, this is totally a spectator sport. Or, at least, it should be. Come on. Nothing against the view." Stiles eyes quickly track down arms and chest and just, guh. "But. Butt!"

Derek heaves a huge sigh like the world is conspiring to make his life the single most difficult thing possible, and flips to his other side. And then Stiles has a view, a totally unimpeded view, of Derek just fingering the fuck out of himself. There are already two fingers. _Two!_ That's two more than a few seconds ago.

Unintentionally, Stiles finds his hand slipping down to trace the rim. It's so red and vulnerable like this. Derek stills as soon as he feels Stiles. "Dude, don't stop," Stiles says, slipping the tip of his own finger right next to Derek's fingers. "That is so _unbelievably_ hot."

Derek growls, total wolf-growl growls, and pulls his fingers out. And then he's wrestling the condom pack open. He drops it and tears it funny, and when it's out, he has to stare at it a second to figure out which side is right, and--

It's funny. It's really hilariously funny. Stiles should be laughing, right now. Instead, he's trying his damnedest not to come. He resorts to the old standby of Coach Finstock making out with Mr. Harris as Derek slides the condom down. It snaps in place with an odd finality.

And then Derek's holding Stiles' cock with a lubed hand and sinking slowly, slowly down. Derek's eyes close. Stiles' eyes _should_ close too, but he just can't stand the idea of missing a single second of this. It feels-- God, it's a revelation. Nothing against his hand. His hand has been his good friend these seventeen years (or, okay, for sexy times, more like four). But Derek is going to make his hand look absolutely useless in comparison.

Derek has this look on his face that's almost like pain. Stiles grabs his hips to, like, heroically throw Derek off himself for his own good or something when he hears this moan. This ugly-beautiful totally involuntary moan. And that? That seems like a good sound.

"That's a--ah, a good sound. Right?" Stiles says.

Derek opens his his eyes to give him this total disbelieving look. With red pupils. Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure he's never going to have a sexual experience like this one again.

Stiles waits. And waits. And waits. And then Derek closes his fricking eyes and goes down another inch. And, whatever. Stiles is being sensitive here. He is an amazing, sensitive man. He grabs Derek as hard as he can. "Is that a good sound Derek? If you don't answer, I'm totally pulling the plug. Right here, right now."

Derek tilts his head back and moans out a 'jesus, stiles, yes' and sort of shoves himself down the rest of Stiles' cock. And, okay? What was the question again? Stiles sort of lost track of it what with the mind-melting good time happening in his nether regions.

His grip tightens on Derek's hips and he involuntarily rocks up. Hard.

Derek whimpers.

Stiles wants to mock him. Badly. He's just too distracted to right now with the amazing sex he's having.

Derek starts a jolting rhythm, slamming down hard on Stiles' cock and then bucking back up. After a few minutes of this, Stiles starts pushing in every time Derek's rocking down. It's amazing. It's glorious. And Stiles is close, he's so close.

He starts picking up speed, but Derek's rhythm is off from his. After the third time he just slips out, he makes a little growl himself, and grabs hold of Derek's hips. And then he's pumping up, faster and faster and faster, until--

Derek's eyes snap open and his back arches and he comes all over his chest. Without a hand on his cock. There's come everywhere, and the whole thing is so hot that Stiles just thrusts one more time and falls over the edge. And it's nothing like when he's alone in his bed. Then it's just relieving a need. But now? This? This is paradise, complete with shining white lights.

He lets himself pass out a little.

He comes back to himself a few minutes later.  Derek is in the process of pulling off. Derek winces, and Stiles winces right with him. Because, nothing against the wonders of sex, but that whole legs bent in weird positions thing looks like it hurt like hell.

Derek gets off the bed and starts walking away. And Stiles--well it wasn't like he went into this thinking they would be together forever for the rest of their lives, amen. But he would kind of like to talk a little after. Clear the air. Find out if it was as good for Derek as it was for him.

Actually, speaking of good for Derek...

"Did you come without being touched?" Stiles says. His voice sounds like he might have some frog in his family tree. "I mean, it might have been a hallucination from the amazing sexytimes, but I kind of remember you coming without being touched."

Derek freezes. Looking at him standing like that, back to Stiles and legs a little splayed so Stiles can see how used he looks, Derek looks nothing so much as vulnerable. Well, not physically. Physically, Derek's a mountain lion of a man who can be bested by no one. But. Totally emotionally. Derek's _totally_ emotionally vulnerable right now.

Derek doesn't turn around, but he does say, "yes," and then he just starts walking again. Like that's at all acceptable. (It isn't, clearly. Stiles was _trying_ to have a conversation here.)

It's just unfair, is what it is. It is totally, completely, unspeakably unfair. Which... Speaking of... "Wait a second. Wait just a second, mister," Stiles says. And, when that doesn't stop Derek, he throws the nearest thing to hand at him. (It happens to be a shoe. It hits Derek on the hip.) Derek turns around, face totally pissed. Like he has any right to that emotion. That emotion belongs solely to Stiles here. "You," Stiles says, pointing at Derek, "were holding out on me."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Yes. Fine. I can come without my cock being touched. I love a good dicking. So sue me."

"You," Stiles says, pointing again, completely barreling over everything Derek's saying, "did not tell me it was even better being the coconut."

Derek has a confused look on his face for a second before it clears up and he sends Stiles a dirty look. (Which, hey. Stiles is pretty damned impressed it only took a second. Those are some excellent powers of memory Derek has there. Stiles hopes he uses them only for good.)

Derek opens his mouth to say something. What exactly will never be known, because Stiles cuts him off. "I want a rematch."

Derek pauses mouth hanging open. It's not a very attractive look on him. Then again, there are no _unattractive_ looks on him, so it's not exactly saying much.

"We play another game of Yahtzee. Or _any_ game of your choosing. If I win, you fuck me," Stiles says with a truly manic grin.

"What about if I win?" Derek says, and somehow, in that second, his posture goes from super-defensive to almost approachable. At least for Derek Hale. Stiles isn't asking for a miracle here.

"Well," Stiles thinks about whether or not he wants to show his hand here. He thinks he does. He's pretty sure he does. He looks up at Derek with, like, the single most honest expression he can muster, and says, "That's entirely up to you."

"Pretty strong words," Derek says, an almost-pleased look hovering over his face.

"What can I say," Stiles says. "I trust you."

Derek blinks. He looks away for a second. And when he looks back, he says, "How are you at Jenga?"

Stiles grins and mentally victory arms. "Well, not to disappoint, but locally I am known as the Jenga king."

Derek gives him a slightly superior look. "That's just because you've never played me."

"Oh it's on, buddy," Stiles says.

"I'm counting on it," Derek says with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://callievalpoli.tumblr.com).


End file.
